


again and again

by tantrums



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: AU, Angel Wings, Angels, Car Accidents, Character Death, Domestic, Hospitalization, Hospitals, Light Angst, M/M, Major Character Undeath, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Mention of a dead body, Moving In Together, One Shot, Polyamory, Sharing a Brain, Undeath, Wakes & Funerals, it's getting weird, its an au okay, its weird, kind of???, mingyu and wonwoo are. not the angels, soonyoung's the angel, yet ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2019-01-26 23:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12569016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tantrums/pseuds/tantrums
Summary: soonyoung knows everything he has to know about himself (his birthday, his blood type, his allergies, how he's prone to strep throat in the winter, how he loses his train of thought sometimes, how he works better under pressure, and how he's not completely human in any sense).mingyu and wonwoo know none of the things they should know about themselves (they're supposed to be dead).





	1. -

Soonyoung’s parents always told him that when the time came, he would have a revelation. Standing over his two boyfriends’ dead bodies, he was having absolutely no revelation; not even the slightest sense of surprise plagued him. He felt nothing.

Leaning back and thinking, just flicking through everything he had in his head, he already knew everything he had to know about himself: his birthday, his blood type, his allergies, how he was prone to strep throat in the winter, how he lost his train of thought sometimes, how he worked better under pressure, and how he wasn’t completely human in any sense.

Soonyoung’s mother figured it out when he was bringing her bouquets of weeds from the front garden that miraculously never wilted, no matter how long she left them sitting on the counter. She started throwing away the flower arrangements that decorated their home as soon as they looked off to her (even though they would have looked brand new to anyone else’s eyes), nudging Soonyoung out of the way and holding the flowers higher than his small frame could reach.

Soonyoung’s father figured it out when he told Soonyoung to step on an ant that was crawling across the floor, and no matter how many times he stepped on it, or even jumped on it full force, when he lifted his foot up, it crawled out alive. His father was too shocked to do anything but let it go, telling Soonyoung he didn’t have to bother chasing after it, just let it be. He had other things to shift his attention to.

Soonyoung himself had no idea what he was doing, he never cared to look at the flowers he brought in after he handed them off to his mother, and as for the ant, he just figured he was too weak to kill it- he was only five years old, after all. He felt like he could do anything, but he had his human limitations in the back of his mind, always taking up space that could have been dedicated to something more important. Maybe if his parents had told him who he really was, if they had trusted him with that information, those words could have taken the place of rules that didn’t apply to him.

His parents had always underestimated his knowledge of himself, specifically his father, who later planted his own seed of doubt in Soonyoung’s mother; she watered it with passiveness and vague words, leaving it to grow into nothing but a host of problems for her son and his overactive (but undeniably genius) mind to deal with. Not that there were many reasonable answers to the questions brought on by Soonyoung’s parents’ actions, the first of these being when he was only in seventh grade.

His mother pulled him out of school, telling the principal that he had the flu, even though he was fine as ever, and the principal must have thought so, too, judging by the way he eyed the pair as they left, not to be seen for the next week. While he was grateful for a week off school, and was more than ready to treat it like a mini vacation, as soon as he got home and dumped his backpack in a secluded corner, his mother emptied every bathroom’s medicine cabinet out onto their coffee table.

“Mom, there’s nothing wrong with me. I’m fine.” He argued as she pushed a few bottles of cough medicine to the side. His efforts were lost on her as she bent further over the table, inspecting the labels on every container she passed her fingertips over.

“I’m just preparing.” Soonyoung didn’t say anything after that, still being at the age where he didn’t want to start an argument, so he watched in silence (interrupted only by her occasional whispers) as she pushed a few more bottles to the side and upended a few more boxes before she found what she was looking for.

Soonyoung barely saw what she was holding, she was quick to turn him around in his spot on the sofa, and he stared aimlessly into the dining room as she rolled the back of his shirt up to his shoulders, bunching it up harshly enough that it would stay in place. There was the sound of a bottle uncapping, and Soonyoung fidgeted, but she grabbed a fistful of his already balled-up shirt, and he relaxed, slouching, his shoulder blades sticking out.

His mother ran one finger over his shoulder blade, spreading some sort of cream onto it, and as she worked drop after drop of it into his skin, she mumbled to herself about something that was “already starting to come through.” The only thing Soonyoung could feel was a chill that sunk down into his bones, and it only got stronger as she applied cream on his other shoulder blade, commenting again about things Soonyoung couldn’t see.

Then came the bandages. They were stiff and tight, and every time Soonyoung would arch his back, trying to break them in as if they were new shoes, his mother would scold him and smooth them out flat again. She must have used almost the entire roll when she pulled his shirt back over his head. “That should do it.” Do what, Soonyoung didn’t know.

Even though he had been pulled out of school permanently, and rarely ever talked to anyone his age anymore, everything he had learned from his friends still stuck in his head, and at thirteen, laying back on his bed, trying to get comfortable, Soonyoung knew he was hitting puberty. He knew his voice was getting deeper, and all his jeans were barely coming to his ankles. He knew there were still layers of bandages on his back that he still hadn’t gotten used to, and there was something underneath them that Soonyoung’s mother was ridiculously concerned about, judging by the soft gasps every time she peeled them back and changed them, which had come to be a daily occurence.

Like any thirteen year old, Soonyoung was getting into the mindset that he could handle himself, and that’s how he found himself standing in the bathroom with his back to the mirror, looking over his shoulder at a reflection he only vaguely recognized: his own back. It felt weird to say he hadn’t seen his own back in months, or touched it, and he would never in a million years tell anyone else, because it probably was weird. Soonyoung didn’t want to be weird. He wedged a fingernail under the thick layer of bandages covering his right shoulder blade, tearing it off in a manner that would have made his mother have a fit.

As he got down to the last layer, he winced, not because it hurt (although it did, like a bitch) but because he expected blood, or an infection, or any number of disgusting things. Instead, all he got was a line that looked like a fresh scar, red and slightly indented, although he couldn’t remember hurting himself. Hanging from it was a single feather, crumpled by the bandages it had been compressed under, but white as snow.

There was the sound of footsteps coming upstairs, and Soonyoung quickly started working on his other shoulder blade, as if it would make anything better. He pulled it away cleaner this time, finding another single feather hanging from a scar. His father swung the door open, looking at Soonyoung for only a moment before focusing on his reflection, and the look in his eyes was worse than any amount of blood.

Next to his mother, Soonyoung’s father looked downright apathetic, swirling his ice cubes in his glass of water, something Soonyoung wasn’t offered as he was steered directly onto the sofa, but not before he had his shoulders covered with a ratty towel. His mother sat across from him with a look that could kill, and Soonyoung wrapped the towel tighter around his chest. It rubbed against his shoulder blades, and he could feel the feather from the left one break off and fall to the sofa cushion.

“Soonyoung, I’m not mad at you.” He raised an eyebrow, not quite believing her. She would never let almost nine months of secret-keeping go to waste without being mad. “I’m mad at myself.”

Soonyoung didn’t say a word, not even when she asked, “How bad is it?” He let her pull the towel down from his shoulders and check for herself. She breathed a sigh that sounded like one of relief, but followed it with, “It’ll only get worse from here.”

“And how bad is that?”

His mother sighed again, this one with more anger: she had obviously lied about not being mad at Soonyoung earlier, but he could care less. He cared about himself, and the secrets he hadn’t come close to uncovering, even by tearing off dozens of layers of bandages. “You’ll figure it out yourself.” With that, he was allowed to go back to his room. His parents didn’t move from their spots downstairs.

It took them five years to get back into those same spots in the living room, all of them sitting with their hands folded, even though the uncomfortable atmosphere had long since left the room, just as the sound of Soonyoung’s mother sighing as he argued with her had stopped echoing around it. Soonyoung was eighteen, an age where he’d much rather hang out with Wonwoo and Mingyu, his new friends who had moved into his neighborhood just last year, than talk to his parents about things that were painfully obvious, like the wings that were crudely folded under his sweatshirt and just how bad things could really get. Wonwoo and Mingyu had let him go, reminding him that family is more important than marathoning shitty sitcoms.

There was no nice introduction to the conversation .The second Soonyoung sat down, his mother looked at him and said, “You know who- you know what you are, correct, Soonyoung?” He nodded his head, and was about to kindly remind them that it had been five years since he figured it out, but his mother asked him another question: “Do you feel like it?” He nodded again, leaning back into the sofa cushions and feeling his wings rub against his back.

“Have you always felt like that?” She shook her head and waved her hand, taking in another breath (being careful not to sigh) and asking, instead, “Have you felt any different lately?”

“No, not at all.” This was the moment where Soonyoung’s mother sighed. She looked to her husband, who shrugged indifferently, but made a miniscule nod towards a vase of wilting flowers on the mantel. Soonyoung’s mother retrieved them, placing them on the coffee table and looking at her son with equal parts fear and expectation. When he didn’t do anything, she continued to stare at him, glancing pointedly at the vase.

“What are these for?” he asked. Upon touching one of the leaves, he felt it firm up under his fingertip; the papery feeling of dead leaves entirely gone. His mother looked down at the newly-green leaf like she was waiting for something better, and so Soonyoung toyed around with each of the petals, watching them spread out and lighten. He felt like he should have gasped, but he just moved onto the next flower, feeling confused, as if his reality was coming apart at the seams. His mother swatted his hand away and sighed, “Of course. He couldn’t just be left alone, could he?”

“You see how everyone and everything flocks to him, don’t you?” his father stated, as if it was obvious. Soonyoung had never noticed, and judging by the look on his mother’s face, she hadn’t, either. Or maybe she was just trying to ignore it.

In a moment of silence, Soonyoung let out a small “Hm?”, wanting to ask a million questions without having to say a word.

“Soonyoung,” his mother said gently, leaning over so he could see every detail of her face, yet he still couldn’t read her expression. “You saw what you did to that flower just now, didn’t you?”

He nodded, looking to the flower to check if it had wilted again- it hadn’t, and it wouldn’t for another week. “I brought it back to life.” He held his breath for a moment before whispering, “I can do that?”

It was his mother’s turn to nod. “You can. Turns out, you’re stronger than we ever expected.” As if cued by Soonyoung opening his mouth, she continued. “Don’t ask why. We don’t know why; we never will. You know all those sayings about playing the hand you’re dealt? That’s what life is like for you, Soonyoung. We trust you’ll play to your advantage.”

He smiled, nodded, acknowledged that his parents didn’t underestimate him, in fact, they knew him well; not quite as well as he knew himself, but well. As if by the placebo effect, he felt a buzz at the edge of his fingertips, and both his parents turned a blind eye as he played with his hands in his lap, looking at them like he’d never seen them before. He was recognizing them for the first time. He was recognizing himself.

“With that being said,” his father cut in, snapping Soonyoung out of his self-absorbed daydream. “We don’t want you to get too overzealous about all this. It’s not all fun and games.” He leaned in for emphasis, so close that he was able to place a hand on the couch Soonyoung sat on. “It’s fucking dangerous, Soonyoung. You might know yourself, but once your actions get outside of yourself, it’s hard to know what you’re doing. And you might know yourself, but you don’t know other people. And you should never, never use this on people. Not unless you need to. And you’ll only need to once.”

“Once,” Soonyoung repeated, holding up his index finger.

“Once,” his parents repeated in unison.

“Everything good only happens once,” his father said, leaning back into his seat.

“And everything bad only happens once.” His mother got up and exited the room, Soonyoung instinctively following her. Back in the living room, Soonyoung’s father sat shaking his head, counting on his fingers something that was more than one.

//

Still standing over the two bodies, his legs starting to ache, he wants to call his mother. His hand dips into his jacket pocket, but he pulls it back out, exposing it to the cold air. He kneels down on the pavement and, upon grasping Mingyu and Wonwoo’s hands, finds that they’re just as cold. It’s silent outside, too, it’s a windless, cloudless night, and not even the sound of sirens penetrates the air. Because nobody’s coming. Nobody even knows. Soonyoung’s not surprised to find himself in a situation where he’s not only keeping secrets, but being a secret as well.

He doesn’t want to rope the two innocent boys on the ground into this, but they were in for it the second they met Soonyoung. And the second they met the other car coming down the road. He throws open the back door of his own car and drags Mingyu over first, not cringing at the feeling of touching a dead body because everything is just too cold. There’s no blood, either, just skin against skin. That’s normal. What’s not normal is the dull thud that accompanies Mingyu’s body coming to rest against the backseat.

Soonyoung ignores it, clenches his fists and digs his heels into the pavement as he turns to go get Wonwoo. He looks so peaceful, it almost feels natural for Soonyoung to hold him until he rolls him over and grabs his blood-soaked side. He can’t see it in the dark, but seeing it would be a lot less disgusting than feeling it, sinking his fingers in a little too deep and feeling more blood saturate the fabric of his t-shirt. It’s warm, unlike the air outside, and it’s a chore for Soonyoung to drop him into the backseat because he feels like Wonwoo’s going to stick to him. A bit of his blood does, on the tip of Soonyoung’s fingers.

He takes one look back at the wreckage of Mingyu’s car, it’s black, like the world around them is at this hour, but the crumpled metal manages to amplify the moonlight and gleam in a way that’s painful to Soonyoung’s eyes, and even more painful to his heart. He climbs into the backseat, up into Mingyu’s lap, closing the door behind him- he’s thankful for his tinted windows. His eyes flick from Mingyu to Wonwoo and back again, and he slides off of Mingyu’s lap into Wonwoo’s. His back slides down the seat, and Soonyoung pulls him back up again, the simple brush of the back of his hand against his jaw making him remember his face under the blood so well it makes him scared he’ll never see it again.

He shakes it off, focusing on what he has to do. He should wipe the blood off of Wonwoo’s face. It’s hard to get off, having been there for god-knows-how-long, and Soonyoung’s sweater sleeves are rough, turning sticky with blood, but he sucks it up and rolls them over his elbows once he’s done, placing his bare hands on Wonwoo’s shoulders. He rubs his shoulders, and then he does it again, and then he realizes he’s stalling for time. Because it’s all he knows how to do right now.

He contemplates calling his parents, but neither of them would know what to do either, nor would they dare help Soonyoung do the one thing they strongly warned him about doing- three years ago, yes, but they still warned him, and Soonyoung is much, much quicker to leave things in the past than his parents were. Underneath his fingertips is Wonwoo’s shirt, feeling slightly damp, and to most people, absolutely disgusting, but when Soonyoung closes his eyes, it almost feels like flower petals. As fast as he can put things behind him, he can turn around and pick them up again, and he picks up the flower petal, pulls Wonwoo’s shirt away from his skin and bunches it up in his hand, and somewhere in that bundle of fabric and blood and flower petals, he feels a buzz. It’s nothing much, the same kind of buzz someone would say they feel after drinking a cup of coffee, but Soonyoung doesn’t drink coffee- he knows that about himself.

He concentrates on it in a way he's never concentrated on anything before- it's as if his life depends on it. Wonwoo’s does, but in a lot of senses, Wonwoo’s life is Soonyoung’s life, and if Wonwoo dies, Soonyoung might just go with him; he might just abandon the idea of being so full of life and let it leave him, too.

Soonyoung doesn't know if the twitch he feels is himself or Wonwoo, and just to check, just to appeal to the little bit of hope in him, all the hope life had ever given him, he inches his right hand up Wonwoo’s neck, and when he nestles it right under his jawline, he feels a pulse. It's not strong, not even as strong as Soonyoung thinks it is, that's just his overdramatic mind at work, but it's there.

“Come on,” Soonyoung urges, digging in his fingertips a little harsher, so that his nails make tiny crescent-shaped imprints in Wonwoo’s skin. The pulse strengthens under his fingertips, and Soonyoung pushes harder, afraid that if he lets go, it’ll disappear, and he’ll be losing Wonwoo all over again, as if once wasn’t enough.

He moves his thumb to the right, to accomodate for a vein that hadn’t been so prominent just a few seconds ago. There’s another shift, and this time, it’s not Soonyoung jumping because of his own nerves- it’s Wonwoo. His head lolls to the side a bit, and Soonyoung holds it up with his left hand, still holding Wonwoo’s right, but only by his pinky finger. He moves again, leans into Soonyoung’s hand a bit, and sighs. It’s hard for Soonyoung to focus on everything at once, especially when his head feels fuzzy and his lungs are burning with every quick breath he takes, but he’s determined not to miss a thing, he’s determined to be there for Wonwoo the second he opens his eyes.

When he finally does, Soonyoung nearly throws himself into his line of vision, their noses practically touching and Soonyoung’s heavy breaths falling directly onto Wonwoo’s lips.

“Soonyoung?” Wonwoo asks, reaching up to rub his eye. Soonyoung swats his hand away and rubs his eye for him, as if Wonwoo’s going to die again.

“Wonwoo, get into the front seat,” Soonyoung orders, opening the door and gesturing for the younger boy to get out. As soon as he does, Soonyoung settles into the empty spot and pulls Mingyu’s legs up onto the backseat, propping his back against the opposite door. His head lolls against the window, but there’s no breath coming from his mouth to fog it up.

It’s easier the second time, even with Wonwoo eyeing him through the rearview mirror with a faraway expression on his face, like he doesn’t quite understand. Soonyoung doesn’t expect him too. The silence between them is comfortable, almost, until Soonyoung looks at Mingyu’s face, turning gray in the wash of moonlight through the window.

He knows where to start, right where his pulse should be, and when he doesn’t find one, he has to breathe in, breathe out, tell himself that that’s expected. He still grabs Mingyu’s other hand in desperation and squeezes his fingertips so hard he’s surprised his bones don’t break.

The longer Soonyoung sits in Mingyu’s lap, with his thumb digging into the soft area below his jawline, and his other thumb pressing into the back of Mingyu’s hand with a death grip, the more Soonyoung seems to lean into the younger boy. He’s tired, the delirious, dizzy kind of tired that when you wake up from it, you don’t remember when you fell asleep. The kind of tired where Wonwoo or Mingyu, or maybe both of them if he was lucky, would beckon him onto the sofa or their bed or their laps and let him rest his chin on their shoulder and tell him, “Just go to sleep if you’re tired, Soonyoung.”

His eyes fall shut and he can’t find the effort to open them; he only finds the effort to dig his thumb harder into his neck and curl the rest of his fingers up into Mingyu’s hair, pulling at different strands of it mindlessly. His other hand, the only holding Mingyu’s, tenses up, but he manages to move his thumb down to the younger boys wrist, and when he brushes over his veins, there’s something about them that feels different. They’re stiffer, more pronounced, more… alive. If he looked down at them, he doesn’t think they’d be gray, they’d be the muted shade of blue that complements his appearance so well, the same color of the denim jacket he’s wearing that Soonyoung doesn’t need to look at to remember because he wore it yesterday. Yesterday, the collar wasn’t splattered with blood, but nobody’s the wiser.

“Snap out of it,” Soonyoung mumbles to himself. The sound of his voice captures Wonwoo’s attention, and he turns only a few inches before Soonyoung growls at him to turn back around. In complete silence, he obeys, but still offers his hand to Soonyoung, who takes it in his own for just a few seconds, running his thumb over his knuckles. When he turns back to Mingyu, he leans further into him, as if that’ll make up for lost time. They’re still losing time; there’s no faint ticking like the one given off by the clock in their apartment, but Soonyoung knows Wonwoo is watching the time on the dashboard, one minute after another after another. Soonyoung doesn’t even know what hour it is.

It feels like the sun should be rising by the time Mingyu’s eyelids flutter, his eyelashes casting a spidery shadow on his cheek that Soonyoung is drawn to immediately. He runs his fingertips over his cheekbones, and his skin is warmer, warmer than Soonyoung’s, which is growing colder and colder as sweat starts to bead on his forehead. A drop falls from Soonyoung’s face and lands on Mingyu’s chin; when the older boy goes to wipe it away, his thumb crosses over Mingyu’s lips, and the slightest breath passes from them. Soonyoung tugs on his bottom lip, and Mingyu lets out something more like a sigh. His chest feels like it rattles under the palm of Soonyoung’s hand.

“Mingyu, come on,” Soonyoung presses, his voice turning raspy. It sounds like he’s about to cry, but he truly doesn’t have it in him; he needs to focus. His hands start to shake, and with the few carefully placed touches he can muster, Mingyu stirs again, shrugging the shoulder that Soonyoung’s moved his left hand onto. He drags his fingers up his neck, and as soon as he places the slightest pressure on his windpipe, Mingyu comes to.

As soon as he does, he coughs, sitting up and clutching at his chest so fast that Soonyoung falls off his lap, the center console catching his fall. Mingyu offers his hand and Soonyoung takes it, pulling himself up but not settling into Mingyu’s lap like the younger boy expects him to. “I need to take you two home,” he mumbles, opening the left back door and sliding out, only to open the driver’s side door and climb in there. He almost blindly shoves the keys into the ignition, but as he places his hand on the steering wheel, he feels the seatbelt brush against his arm. It makes him stop.

“Put on your seatbelts.” He looks like he’s talking to the road, but both Wonwoo and Mingyu listen to him, Wonwoo tearing his gaze away from Soonyoung’s profile and Mingyu finally getting his head to stop spinning as he focuses on something besides the world outside.

The entire ride back to their apartment, Wonwoo keeps shooting Soonyoung glances that beg for the one thing Soonyoung can’t give him: closure. He wishes he made Wonwoo sit in the backseat with Mingyu, who’s still gazing out the window with wide eyes, so they could both be oblivious together, Wonwoo in his carefully composed, demure manner, Mingyu in his disheveled one, and Soonyoung could concentrate on the road, not having to worry about whatever the other two were worrying about. Every time he looks in any direction besides forwards, he feels his eyelids start to droop, and the world starts to blur at the edges. Even Wonwoo’s face doesn’t look as sharp as it usually does, having dissolved into the shadows, even with the streetlights placed liberally on the sidewalk.

Inside, Soonyoung can barely make it to his room before he collapses on his bed. He doesn’t know if he voluntarily closes or eyes or if he blacks out, but his hands go limp, and a drop of blood on his index finger smears itself across the white bedsheets.

Wonwoo comes in some time later, not noticing the blood stain on the sheets, and lies down on his back next to Soonyoung. The ceiling fan spins slowly above him, but any kind of motion is enough to make him feel sick, so he rolls onto his side. A calendar hangs in a relatively empty spot on the wall, the area around it liberally decorated with peeling sticky notes. Even in the dark, Wonwoo can read the one that was hung up most recently, right next to today’s date: MINGYU’S INTERVIEW. IN TOWN- 45 MINUTE DRIVE. He’d have to ask him how it went tomorrow morning.

The next morning, there’s a more pressing matter in the form of Soonyoung sitting with his back against the bed’s headboard, the blankets thrown off of him. He looks at Wonwoo, but Wonwoo doesn’t meet his eyes, rather, he notices how intensely his cheeks have flushed, like he had been sweating all night. It would make sense, considering he has the blankets pulled up to his chin, and he hadn’t taken off his jacket last night before he fell asleep.

“Fever?” Wonwoo asks, sitting up.

“I dunno,” Soonyoung admits.

“I’ll go get you some soup,” Wonwoo offers, getting up. Soonyoung doesn’t protest, in fact, he’s getting kind of hungry, and if Wonwoo’s going to bring him soup, he’ll be glad to accept it. Of course, there’s always some sort of catch with Wonwoo, or at least things that Soonyoung considers to be catches when he’s sick and irritable and generally upset: this time, it was that Wonwoo decides to sit at the foot of the bed the entire time Soonyoung eats.

“Is it good?” Wonwoo asked once Soonyoung’s swallowed the first bit. The older boy nods, grateful for the concern Wonwoo has for him, more concern than a boyfriend really needs, but not too much that it annoys Soonyoung- he’s easy to please, anyway.

It’s when Wonwoo gets that faraway look in his eyes and starts to look anywhere but at Soonyoung that the older boy starts to get annoyed, in a nervous kind of way. He busies himself with some more soup to keep himself from cutting Wonwoo off- it’ll all be over with sooner if he just gives him a chance to speak. He watches every curl of Wonwoo’s lips as he tries to form the words inside his mouth.

He doesn’t bother to filter those words on the way out. “So, what was with last night?” His tone didn’t beat around the bush at all, etiher, and the look he gave Soonyoung almost made him choke on the spot. He delayed his answer with a fake- but painful, regardless- coughing fit.

“What was with what? Me driving you and Mingyu home?” He sighed like he was done with his sentence, but breathed back in and snapped, “Is that weird or something?”

“No, that’s not weird, but some things are, Soonyoung.” Wonwoo emphasizes Soonyoung’s name at the end of his sentence; he always does it, he always wants to make sure he’s as straightforward as possible, and he wants to make sure Soonyoung has no way out of this.

“Like what?” He’s really walking into it now, but there’s nowhere else to go.

“Like… God, I can barely remember, isn’t that weird? Isn’t that wrong?”

“Well, who am I to tell you what happened?”

“Because you know it.”

“Oh, do I? How would you know whether or not I know?” He sounds like a child, his nose all stuffy from being sick and his voice unstable from him having just woken up. Mingyu walks in, and even he looks mature in the midst of the scene his two boyfriends are causing.

He sits down on the corner of the bed, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“What do you think is wrong?” Wonwoo asks, trying to pull the answer he wants from Mingyu’s lips. Per usual, he doesn’t cooperate.

“You two are fighting.” Wonwoo raises his eyebrows, prompting for elaboration. “Did something happen last night?”

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to figure out.” Wonwoo turns back to Soonyoung, and Mingyu follows, although the younger boy’s gaze is much less threatening. Soonyoung chooses to look at him, even as Wonwoo asks, “Soonyoung, what happened last night?”

“I drove you home.”

“From where?” Wonwoo brushes his bangs out of his face, and takes the motion as an opportunity to glance at the calendar on the wall behind him. Soonyoung looks out the window, and he’s greeted with nothing but indistinct, sprawling buildings that do nothing good for his eyes, his headache, and his desperate need for a lie.

“The hospital.”

As soon as Wonwoo opens his mouth, Soonyoung can’t resist cutting him off. He’s giving him what he wants, anyway. “I drove you two home from the hospital. You got into a car accident driving Mingyu back from his interview. You’re fine, though.” He pauses, and gives Wonwoo a glare he should be jealous of. “You’re fine, right?”

Wonwoo rubs his shoulder, nods halfheartedly, looks at Mingyu, and repeats the question: “You’re fine, right?” He doesn’t respond, just stares at Soonyoung longingly- the older boy has no idea what he longs for, but chances are, he won’t be getting it.

“Come on, Mingyu,” Wonwoo mutters, grabbing the black-haired boy’s hand and pulling him up so harshly the bed lurches. “Soonyoung isn’t feeling well.” Mingyu complies, but not before pulling his hand from Wonwoo’s grip and backtracking for just a moment to ruffle Soonyoung’s hair and kiss his forehead.

“I hope you feel better,” he says with a smile, letting his touch linger on Soonyoung as if he thrives off of it. Wonwoo grabs his other hand, and just the sight of it brings to mind what it feels like. Once Mingyu’s pulled away, Soonyoung feels absolutely nothing but the slight chill of the ceiling fan blowing on him.

“Don’t touch him, he doesn’t feel well,” Wonwoo says to Mingyu, as if Soonyoung’s out of earshot when he’s still only a few feet away.

“I’m fine,” he argues from his spot on the bed, making no effort to prove it.

“I don’t think you are,” Wonwoo replies, turning his head back over his left shoulder. He leans into Mingyu as he does it, and in the space Soonyoung can’t see, he must nudge Mingyu or something, because Mingyu visibly bristles a bit before saying, “I just hope you feel better.”

Wonwoo kicks the door not-quite-shut, and waits for the sound of it brushing over the carpet to silence before he says, “We’re fine, by the way.” The door clicks shut.

//

For once in Soonyoung’s life, it feels like the world is moving too fast. Wonwoo and Mingyu, are, well, Wonwoo and Mingyu, and Soonyoung just isn’t quite Soonyoung. Wonwoo’s the one who notices when he zones out at breakfast or asks what they’re doing today even though he’s the one who made plans, and thus he’s the one who pesters Soonyoung with questions that are full of good intentions, but just make Soonyoung feel worse.

He’s never wanted to be a liar, but there are times where he has to lie, where he has to say, “I just don’t feel well” or “I didn’t sleep well last night” because he can’t say “You were laying dead in my arms 48 hours ago and I can’t get over the sight of it.” Even when Soonyoung lies, Wonwoo gives him the same understanding look that neither of them will ever get sick of (for entirely separate reasons, of course).

Wonwoo’s the same, the same as his old self, and the same as Soonyoung: they live in the same apartment, sleep in the same bed, wake up to the same views and sounds, sit the same way on the sofa, and overall, feel the same way about each other. They’ve spent countless hours staring at the bland ceiling above their bed, talking about their less-than-bland life, and it’s safe to say they have it all figured out- at least, everything they share is figured out. Which is almost everything.

If Soonyoung and Wonwoo are the “everything,” Mingyu is the “almost.” Every time the two older boys lace their fingers together and walk hand in hand to their room, Mingyu is almost there, standing in the doorway, or sitting on the floor at the foot of their bed. Soonyoung and Wonwoo welcome him, invite him to join in the conversation, he’s their boyfriend after all, but the person Mingyu doesn’t have a relationship with is himself.

Nobody says anything, not even Soonyoung and Wonwoo, who are the only ones that notice. To everyone else who sees him, it’s just that Mingyu’s a little farther out of it on that particular day. To Wonwoo, it’s an everyday thing, it’s every morning and every night when they brush their teeth in the bathroom mirror and Mingyu looks caught off guard by his own appearance, or, sometimes, he looks caught off guard by Soonyoung and Wonwoo. To Soonyoung, it runs a little deeper- something about it hits close to home, maybe the fact that he tries to hide it. Soonyoung wants to tell him it’s okay to fall apart sometimes, even though all he really wants is for him to stay together.

Soonyoung’s splayed out across both their laps one morning, Mingyu absentmindedly playing with his hair, Wonwoo’s hand on his knee, the other one paging through a book from the side table, when Mingyu blurts out, “Wasn’t your hair black?” Soonyoung nods, disturbing the motion of Mingyu’s fingers over his scalp, and reaches back with his hand to grab Mingyu’s own, and the second Soonyoung’s pinky loops around the younger boy’s ring finger, he seems to snap back to reality, or at least the present. “Yeah, I remember that. And I remember you dying it orange last week. You should’ve asked me to help.”

Soonyoung laughs, forced, but the sound of Mingyu’s responding giggle makes it worth it. “I’m not sure if I would trust you with my hair.” Wonwoo laughs too, from the other end of the sofa, and Soonyoung looks up to see him remove his hat, as if to make a point that he has better hair than both of them. That’s how it goes for hours, all the time, small talk without words, small talk with words, small talk without Mingyu, small talk with Mingyu. He rarely initiates conversation, but he turns to Wonwoo, and asks, “Do you want some coffee?” Wonwoo nods, not looking up from his book, and Mingyu strolls into the kitchen.

There’s the sound of cabinets opening and closing, rustling, and then Mingyu sighing, “We have no coffee creamer.” 

Wonwoo looks to Soonyoung, who did the grocery shopping, and feigns shock, taking his hand off the other boy’s knee and placing it over his chest. “Soonyoung, how could you?” 

Soonyoung laughs, slapping his hand away but still grabbing it for himself, laughing loud enough to cover up Mingyu’s, “Do I have to go to the store?” and the fact that Soonyoung had more pressing matters on his mind while he was shopping than getting Wonwoo his coffee creamer.

“Do I have to go to the store?” Mingyu asks again, turning around to face Wonwoo. Wonwoo looks back at him and raises an eyebrow, trying to shrug without disturbing Soonyoung, who’s resting his chin in the palm of the younger boy’s hand. “I don’t want to go all the way to the store.”

“You can test your luck at Jihoon’s place,” Wonwoo suggests. “He’s got coffee creamer, definitely, but he might not want to give it to you.” Soonyoung tries not to laugh, tries not to derail Mingyu’s train of thought, even though he’s thinking about the time they showed up to ask for a cup of sugar and he slammed Mingyu’s finger in the door when he closed it in their faces.

Mingyu slides on his shoes and leaves, which gives Soonyoung and Wonwoo at least half an hour to be alone, Wonwoo reading his book and Soonyoung thinking about all the things he could say to annoy him, and all the things he should be saying but just can’t bring himself to.

It’s been about an hour with Mingyu gone, a normal amount of time, yet it feels so long that Soonyoung’s moved behind Wonwoo and started to read his book over his shoulder, when the phone rings. Wonwoo looks back at the older boy, and before he can ask, “Would you go get that, honey?” Soonyoung is walking to the counter to grab the phone. He doesn’t even need Wonwoo to convince him or call him honey.

It feels like an important phone call before Soonyoung even checks the caller ID: it’s Jihoon, and he never calls anyone for anything. He could be dying and he’d rather text 911 than call them.

Wonwoo watches as Soonyoung picks up the phone, but Soonyoung turns away, heads into the corner of the kitchen like he does when he’s scared, except this time, he’s not scared of a spider crawling on the ceiling or the sound of a tree branch slapping against the window, he’s scared of something that’s real and inescapable: Jihoon’s voice on the other end of the line, and what he’s saying.

“I’ve got Mingyu here, and he doesn’t look too good.” He sighs, and Soonyoung can practically hear how he licks his lips and then tucks the bottom one between his teeth, and action he’s seen him repeat dozens of times. “D-do you want me to take him to the hospital?” he asks, prompted by Soonyoung’s silence.

“No, no, I mean-” his voice drops to a whisper, “how bad is he? I can just come get him.”

Jihoon sighs again. “He’s dizzy, he told me he felt like he was going to faint, that kind of thing.” He pauses, and Soonyoung can hear floorboards creak as Jihoon crosses his old apartment, presumably to wherever Mingyu is. “He’s really pale, Soonyoung.”

Soonyoung doesn't know what he's supposed to say. Jihoon takes another breath- it sounds like he's getting exasperated, and Soonyoung knows he's giving him every reason to. “Soonyoung, I… I really think I should take him to the hospital.”

“I’ll come get him,” Soonyoung blurts. On the other end of the line, Jihoon’s thumb hovers over the end button. “Stay on the phone with me.” He pulls his finger back, gripping the phone tighter with it.

Soonyoung and Wonwoo head out of the apartment, the older boy almost forgetting to put on his shoes and jacket on the way out. Wonwoo offers to drive, knowing Soonyoung’s too out of it, so much so that he doesn't even protest as Wonwoo ushers him over to the passenger side.

Jihoon’s apartment is almost too short of a drive away, and Wonwoo’s driving far too fast. When he cracks the driver’s side window to feel the wind on his face, Soonyoung can barely hear the other end of his phone call. There's only distant mumbling, which must be Jihoon talking to Mingyu in that soothing voice of his, the one that leaves everyone convinced, even Mingyu, who must be losing his fucking mind, in critical condition for the second time in two weeks and without the people that matter most to him.

Soonyoung falls silent when he enters the building, but uses his phone against his ear as an excuse to not talk to the doorman, and instead focus on Jihoon’s voice, quiet, but still there, and still calming. He can count Jihoon’s words at the same time he counts his steps, there’s a rhythm to them, one that’s soon interrupted when he picks up his phone again- “Soonyoung, are you taking the stairs?”

The next slap of his shoe against one of the concrete stairs startles him, and he almost loses his balance. “Yeah,” he admits. “Wonwoo is, too.” He can hear the younger boy somewhere behind him- he doesn’t know how close; he’s too quiet.

Jihoon doesn't ask any more questions, just goes back to tending to Mingyu, this time with the phone still wedged between his head and his shoulder, so Soonyoung can hear every word he says loud and clear. It makes him feel closer, but the closer he gets, the more his heart aches and his throat burns and his legs threaten to give out under him. The knock of his fist against Jihoon’s door is dull and weak, and yet Soonyoung feels like he’s exhausted as much energy as he would have if he kicked the door down.

He leans against the door after he knocks, and eventually, after what feels like ages compressed into a reality of a few seconds, the door opens. Wonwoo catches Soonyoung with an arm around his waist, and guides him into the apartment. Jihoon shuts the door behind them and sits at the kitchen counter, letting them figure things out with Mingyu themselves.

The moment Soonyoung’s close enough, he practically collapses into Mingyu’s arms, and the younger boy, as if he was in perfect health, takes him fully, settling him down into his lap. It feels all too familiar to Soonyoung, and he crosses his legs, tries to curl in on himself, just to not feel like he's suffocating Mingyu. Wonwoo sits next to them contently, stroking Mingyus arm.

“He looks a lot better now that you're here,” Jihoon admits, noticing the color of Mingyu’s face, which had brightened considerably.

“I feel a lot better,” Mingyu agreed, flashing a smile in Jihoon’s direction. He focused his attention on Soonyoung again, rubbing his back, and no matter how perfectly he placed pressure on his spine, Soonyoung still felt like he was going to break.

//

Soonyoung wakes up in his bed feeling outside of himself again, the only thing he can pinpoint being a slight ache somewhere on his neck. He closes his fist around the tips of someone else’s fingers and has to turn over in bed to find out who it is (it’s always Wonwoo.) Soonyoung chalks it up to being afraid that he’ll leave someday; he doesn’t want it to run any deeper than his feelings already go; they’re starting to tear him up inside, split his heart right down the middle like a river forming a canyon.

His phone rings from the nightstand. He reaches back to grab it and answer the call, the sound of his mother’s voice, still clear even through his phone speaker, making him sit up a little straighter in bed. It makes his shoulder blades sting, but he’s learned to ignore the feeling.

“Good morning, Mom,” he mumbles, rubbing circles onto Wonwoo’s hand as he stirs in his sleep.

“Good morning, Soonyoung. And happy birthday.” She doesn’t yell, she says it just as quietly as she says anything else, but Soonyoung can hear her smile and the happiness in her voice. It takes him a few moments to thank her, and a few more moments to get into the flow of normal conversation, all the while dancing around the topic of the car accident. Soonyoung’s mother had no idea it had ever happened, and if she did, she would take it just as hard as Soonyoung himself. Soonyoung was always a problem as a child, and years later, he doesn’t want to be the kind of problem child that comes back and bites his parents in the ass as an adult. They don’t deserve that.

“Oh, your father wants to talk to you.”

“Okay.” He holds back the urge to apologize as she passes off the phone.

“Soonyoung!” His voice is bubbly, like his son’s. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks, Dad.”

There’s a silence, something so rare during their conversations that it’s unnerving, at least to Soonyoung, who holds his phone to his ear with his shoulder and rubs his free hand over his legs, bunching up the fabric of his pajama pants beneath his fingers. Wonwoo shifts again, and Soonyoung nearly yanks him back in his search for something to hold onto.

“Now that you’re 21, I want to ask you something.”

“What?” He runs his hand down his thigh again, even though it feels the same. It just doesn’t feel like him.

“Have you been having any… weird thoughts lately?” It’s been a long time since Soonyoung’s sat in a therapist’s office and evaluated himself, so long that the thought of lying to please his dad doesn’t even cross his mind. Instead, he leans back into his pillows and thinks, recalls obvious events that, in retrospect, should have raised a red flag to Soonyoung. But he was so caught up in Wonwoo and Mingyu that he started thinking like them, ignoring things.

“What’s considered a ‘weird thought’?” Soonyoung asks, keeping his voice down as he looks at Wonwoo, who’s inching his way to the other side of the bed. Soonyoung lets his hand go.

“Something… that feels… out of the ordinary. Something you wouldn’t normally think to yourself.” Soonyoung ponders on that statement, tries to turn back time and remember what he’s been thinking for the past few days, but suddenly, he doesn’t remember. And it’s not like Soonyoung to forget things.

“Soonyoung,” his father says, a bit louder, like he’s trying to get his son’s attention. “Does it feel like someone else is in your head?”

He wants to say no, but there’s a part of him that makes him hesitate. The train of thought he has going with his dad’s conversation seems to derail itself, and his mind shifts to a new topic: Mingyu, who’s woken up.

“I’m sorry, I’m busy, give me a second.” Soonyoung leaves his room, careful not to push Wonwoo’s arm off of his lap too forcefully, and crosses to the other side of the apartment. He doesn’t leave his phone in the room, and he can hear through his hand covering the speaking, “Soonyoung, I need to know, this is important, do you-” He hangs up; he’s busy. 

After that, the only noise is his own footsteps; Mingyu’s awfully quiet in the mornings, but he’s awake, as Soonyoung comes to find when he opens the door. Not that he didn’t already know that. He sits down next to him on the bed, and his phone rings. Mingyu gives him a look that says, “You should take that,” and Soonyoung finds himself taking the call, turning his face away from the younger boy.

“Soonyoung,” his father grumbled, trying to keep quiet but still proving his anger to his son, “this is important. I need to know how you've been doing. Do I need to tell you that this could be life or death for you? Will that make you answer me?” Soonyoung jumps, and when Mingyu places his hand flat on the older boy’s back, he turns around with a scared enough expression that Mingyu leaves the room, but not before kissing the top of his head and whispering, “I’ll leave you to this.” Soonyoung almost doesn’t want him to leave, but knows it’s best for him, and he’s thankful he doesn’t have to tell Mingyu that.

He hums, the tone of his voice leaning more towards a positive answer than a negative one, and his father accepts his response. “Do you ever feel…” He pauses, leaning away from the receiver with a slight crackle, and calls out to Soonyoung’s mother, “How did they describe it again?” She answers, and Soonyoung still strains to hear it, because he’d rather hear it from her than from his father, but it’s impossible.

“Do you ever dissociate?” He asks. “Do you ever feel like you’re not in control of yourself; like someone else is in control of you? Do you feel like you’re controlling someone else? It can take a lot of forms, Soonyoung, I just want to cover all your bases here.”

“Dad, I think you’re forgetting that I can, kind of, um, control people.”

“I think you’re forgetting what complete and utter control of someone feels like.”

“I think you’re forgetting that we all slip up sometimes.”

“That tells me all I need to know.”

“So are you gonna hand the phone back to Mom?”

His father sighs, pulls the phone away from his ear, and brings it back to admit, “I’ll pass it off. She’ll explain everything better than I can.”

As soon as he hears his mother breathe in on the other end of the line, Soonyoung cuts her off and asks, “Should I explain myself first?”

“No. I already know what you did.” There’s a long pause in which neither of them say anything, Soonyoung just takes deep breaths and searches for a pulse in his body that might be his, might not be, he can’t tell anymore. He can, however, clearly recognize the sound of his mother’s voice. “Can’t change the past, but we can always predict your future.” He can imagine her winking at him as she says it, and it almost makes him crack a smile, until he realizes that the future seems to approach faster and faster these days.

“I know there’s an imbalance in your relationship. It’s inevitable. So, who’s the odd one out?”

“Mingyu,” Soonyoung says immediately. He can’t try to deny it anymore.

“So he’s the one you feel less connected to from a relationship standpoint, I assume.”

“Yes.”

“But do you feel more connected to him from another standpoint?”

“What kind of standpoint? Physical? Mental? Emotional?”

“All of those.”

“...Sometimes, yes.”

“Any specific events?” Soonyoung can almost feel Mingyu’s hands on his body, a touch that’s gentle and warm, but so much so that it borders on hot, making the skin under his shirt sticky and uncomfortable to be in. There’s a pressure on his spine; it feels like it’s always been there. He coughs into the phone, lurching forwards.

“About a week and a half ago, he went to see Jihoon-”

“The one that lives just over a mile away, yeah?”

“Yeah, him. He went to go get some coffee creamer from him, and when he got to his apartment, Jihoon called us, not to tell us off for sending him down, but to tell us he looked really sick.”

“Dizzy. Pale. On the verge of passing out.”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Soonyoung responded, even though they weren’t questions, they were clearly statements.

“I’m assuming you went to Jihoon’s apartment to get him. How was he when you showed up?”

Soonyoung leaned back, his head not coming up far enough to reach the pillows, so he lay perfectly flat. When he exhaled, he could feel his ribs with the hand against his stomach. “He was just fine, actually.”

“What do you think caused that?”

“I don’t know, I figured Jihoon just let him rest and he got over it.”

“You don’t think it took a little something extra?”

“Well, what would the little something extra be?”

“You.”

Once Soonyoung starts to acknowledge how much he means to Mingyu, how much he is to Mingyu, the blood in his veins and the beat of his heart and the air in his lungs, he feels responsible to put the sun in the sky for him every morning, but there’s more than enough light radiating from Mingyu’s smile to illuminate the whole apartment. His words drip with fresh honey and his eyes reflect the dewdrops from the plants on their windowsills, and he’s so overwhelming Soonyoung almost lets out a breath of fresh air when he skips out the door one morning, off to do a few personal errands for the fashion design business he’s been trying to get off the ground for ages.

Of course, Soonyoung’s always holding his breath. At least a little bit.

An hour is a long time to be on edge, so long that when the phone rings, Soonyoung nearly sighs with relief, waiting for the sound of one of his friend’s voices to calm him down. The voice that crackles through the speaker is one he doesn’t recognize, and even if he did, it still pricks him in the wrong places with sharp bits of seriousness that first ask him, “Do you know Kim Mingyu?” When he confirms it, when he says, “Yes, I do, that’s my boyfriend, and I’m his emergency contact,” the voice on the other end softens in response, so much so that he can barely hear the words, “We’ll need you to come down to the hospital right away. Mingyu’s here.” Soonyoung doesn’t want to believe it, but the shock and concern on Wonwoo’s face outdoes his own, and he resigns to sucking it up and driving while Wonwoo stares out the window, the heater on to hide the sound of him sniffling.

Wonwoo holds Soonyoung’s hand the entire time they drive to the hospital, the entire time they walk up to the front desk, and he starts to rub soothing circles over his knuckles while the nurses ask their relation to him, and ask them to confirm that they're his emergency contacts, and ask them to confirm this and confirm that. They don't confirm whether or not Mingyu is dying again. That's for the two to figure out themselves when they reach his room.

The first person they notice when Wonwoo pulls back the floral curtain isn't Mingyu, but a visitor he has- a boy with a ponytail, absentmindedly drumming his fingers against the armrest of the chair. He looks up at the harsh sound of the curtain opening, and he looks genuinely concerned. He shoots a quick glance at Mingyu, then looks back at Wonwoo and Soonyoung. “You must be here for him, right? I should go.”

He stands so abruptly that the jacket he had hung on the back of the chair falls to the floor, and Wonwoo stops him before he can grab it, telling him to stay. “Unless you want to leave, of course. But you can stay.” Wonwoo smiles slightly, and the boy with the ponytail follows, sitting back down. Wonwoo sits in the empty chair next to him, leaving Soonyoung to stand across from them, at Mingyu’s bedside. He runs his fingers up and down his legs, and he can see his eyelashes flutter a bit- he’s just asleep, that’s all, Soonyoung’s seen him asleep at least a hundred times.

The moment the boy next to Wonwoo shifts in his seat, Soonyoung makes eye contact with him. “You brought Mingyu here, I assume?” he asks. The boy nods, and Wonwoo bites his lip nervously as Soonyoung continues, “I want you to tell me everything.”

“Soonyoung, I don't think that's a good i-”

“I want to know everything.”

The boy clicks his tongue a few times and sighs before he starts, looking out the window as if it'll tell the story for him. “He collapsed on the sidewalk, outside of the payphone booth I was in. He leaned against the outside of it, so I figured he was waiting to make a call, but he passed out a few seconds later. I just called an ambulance right away, I didn't bother to check for emergency contacts or anything. Maybe I should have.” He adds the last sentence quietly, as if he’s ashamed of the fact he’s doubting himself.

Soonyoung visibly bristles a bit, but Wonwoo nudges the boy next to him, turning his attention away from Soonyoung, and thanks him.

“You really don't have to thank me.” He shakes his head, throwing his ponytail over his shoulder. He looks like he's about to get up and leave, but a nurse throws back the curtain, “I’m here to check his vitals, sorry to interrupt.”

The nurse has dark hair and eyes, and when he looks up from Mingyu, the shadows cast over his features make it impossible to tell whether they're sharp or soft. He looks over at the boy with the ponytail, and the new light reflecting off his cheeks gives the impression his features are rather sharp- except his eyes. It seems like everyone Soonyoung and Wonwoo meet these days have eyes that pity them.

“Jeonghan,” he says. The boy with the ponytail perks up at the sound of what must be his name, and the nurse asks, “You found his family?” Soonyoung and Wonwoo look up at the sound of what must be a reference to them.

“Truthfully, they found me, but yeah,” he mumbles, shaking his head vaguely in the direction of the two boys next to him. The nurse crosses the bed, fixing Mingyu’s covers as he does so, and then holds out his hand.

“I’m Lee Seokmin.” He smiles, and aside from his eyes, which are still pitiful, he looks genuinely friendly, like the kind of person you would approach at the bus stop if you saw them standing alone.

“I’m Soonyoung,” Soonyoung pipes up first, taking the hand Seokmin holds out eagerly. Wonwoo takes it after him, introducing himself with just a vague mumble of his name. Seokmin holds onto his hand a little longer, widens his smile, and says, “You two have nothing to worry about, you know. Mingyu’s doing a lot better, and he’ll be discharged tonight.”

Soonyoung doesn’t think 5am still qualifies as nighttime, but he’s too tired to say anything about it, and Seokmin must be, too, judging by the bags under his eyes that get darker every time he enters the room. Jeonghan had already taken his opportunity to leave as soon as Wonwoo said it wouldn’t offend him if he did; it was getting harder and harder to stay awake as he watched Soonyoung nod off. He still claimed he had plans to get around to; Wonwoo finds it hard to believe that.

The only person who’s not tired is Mingyu, after being out cold for God-knows-how-long. Soonyoung almost regrets waking him up when they could have just taken him home asleep, but it’s worth the look on Mingyu’s face when he sees the two older boys standing over him, and it’s worth the way he pinches their cheeks and ruffles their hair and insists that he missed them more than they could ever miss him, even though he was fast asleep and they were wide awake shaking from things that weren’t hospital coffee.

Seokmin settles into the now empty chair to sign the discharge papers, barely able to keep his hand steady when he scribbles his name. He passed the clipboard off to the boys next to him, and looks over at Mingyu. He’s sitting up straight, and his eyes sparkle, no matter who he’s looking at. Seokmin no longer feels a twinge of pity, but one of happiness, almost pride. Soonyoung and Wonwoo are the ones that should be proud, having someone so loyal and full of love to have by their side. 

They aren’t looking at him, they’re too busy signing the papers themselves, just as messily as Seokmin did, but they can’t help themselves from smiling at the print of his name on the paper. He almost doesn’t seem real when they look at him, or maybe he shouldn’t seem like he is, but the grip he has on Soonyoung and Wonwoo’s hands as they walk up to the front desk together is so real and overwhelming it almost makes Soonyoung collapse. Seokmin nudges his way in front of them to slide the clipboard across the counter, but not before giving them another genuine smile. This time, Mingyu’s awake to see it.

The secretary’s smile falters a bit as she looks up at them, either from the tears on their faces or the white feather sticking out of Soonyoung’s shirt, but lets them go regardless. Seokmin pats Soonyoung and Wonwoo on the back as he leaves, and when Soonyoung shivers from the contact with his shoulder blades, Wonwoo grabs his hand. The younger boy’s fingertips are shaking, too.

//

In the next few weeks, Soonyoung seems to catch Mingyu sleeping more and more. He looks entirely peaceful, absolutely untouched by the world, and Soonyoung feels partially responsible as the person who threw him into the world so harshly it broke him. He finds himself sitting next to Mingyu, sometimes touching him, sometimes just letting his hand hover over his body, like there’s a barrier around him he just can’t reach through.

For once, under these circumstances, Wonwoo is more bold than Soonyoung. He runs his fingers through Mingyu’s hair and kisses his forehead without having to think about it first. The only time there’s hesitation in his eyes is when he picks it up from Soonyoung, who’s constantly hesitating, constantly letting Mingyu pull himself away for a few seconds before Soonyoung inevitably follows him. He hasn’t left the house alone, and Soonyoung doesn’t think he ever will again- the persuasive edge of Wonwoo’s words has been worn down, just like everyone in the apartment has been themselves.

Soonyoung’s done hesitating, he’s the kind of person who doesn’t bend before he breaks and while he hasn’t broken yet, one more wrong move and he thinks his entire body will crumple the same way Mingyu’s does. They’ve started to catch each other’s eyes while they’re both zoning out at opposite ends of the sofa, and every single time, there’s something in Mingyu’s eyes that Soonyoung can’t understand, maybe because he’s never seen it in himself, maybe because he’s forgotten what it is, he doesn’t know. He knows he wants it gone.

There are almost too many things he wants gone: the shortness of breath and the pressure in his chest when he wakes up every morning, the constant nightmares that don’t scare him because he already knows what’s coming, but that make him uncomfortable nonetheless, the secrets on the tip of his tongue, the blood he spit out into the sink last night, and the night before that, and the night before that, he wants it all gone. And he wants himself back. And because he’s just so lucky, he knows exactly how he can get both- it’s all what’s at his fingertips, or rather, it’s what’s not at his fingertips.

//

Mingyu is sitting across from Soonyoung at the table; the room smells of cinnamon. He has a soft smile on his face, and he brushes his hair out of his eyes just to get a clearer view of the boy across from him. Soonyoung would typically be flattered, but he doesn’t want to get attached to Mingyu’s way of silently complimenting him, not when the silence Mingyu’s going to leave behind won’t give him anything. Wonwoo’s silent, too, off in Mingyu’s bedroom starting to clean up the place, because Soonyoung convinced him that he and Mingyu were going to have a lot to sort out when they got home. It was only half a lie, and it was fully working.

“So, you’re finally officially moving in?” Soonyoung snickers. Mingyu rests his head in one of his hands as his cheeks start to turn red, the other hand fiddling with his phone, the screen still showing a voicemail from Minghao, one of the tenants of his old apartment. As summer came to a close, so did their lease, and Minghao had called to tell Mingyu that the two years he had spent in his apartment at the edge of town had been “nice and all, but Junhui found us a better place, so we’ll be moving out.” Mingyu had sold it off to a kid all three of them had gone to high school with, and in typical fashion, Mingyu had procrastinated getting his old stuff from the storage closet of the place until the day before someone new would be moving in. Soonyoung didn’t know his name, he never would, and yet, there was a part of him that already wanted to apologize to him.

Mingyu’s apartment is homey, even without any furniture, and Soonyoung wonders how it would look with their mismatched things crammed into the smaller space. Wonwoo would absolutely hate it, and Soonyoung’s mind flits back to him, sitting at home, probably trying not to think about the mess Soonyoung and Mingyu are about to make. They had already made one of the kitchen this morning. Mingyu heads into the smaller, cleaner kitchen, bumping into the edge of the counter as if to show off how little he really remembers about the place.

“Can you hold my phone?” Mingyu holds it out as he climbs onto the counter to check in the backs of the cabinets. Soonyoung obliges, slipping it into the coat pocket opposite the one his own phone is in, and promptly forgets about it. He shrugs his coat halfway off when they sit down in the living room with the contents of the linen closet spread out around them, so his arms are exposed from his shoulders to his elbows. Mingyu drapes a sheet over him, like a cape. It’s white, and there’s a bit of dust stuck to it that Soonyoung nearly mistakes for a feather. He stretches, pressing his back into the sheet while he does more watching than helping, and he wonders how many feathers are going to be found stuck to the sheet later. He wonders if anyone will even bother to count; normal people tend to miss that step in a lot of things.

Mingyu sets aside another box, which Soonyoung’s counted as number eight, making them halfway done sorting through everything, and making Soonyoung start to lose his temper- he’s not here to waste time, after all, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He pats the stack of boxes, catching Mingyu’s attention, and as soon as he looks over, scoots a little closer to him. “I’m gonna take some of these out to the car.” He motions to the boxes. Mingyu nods, and starts to turn away, but Soonyoung catches his fingers under his chin, turns his head back, and kisses him.

“What’s that for?” Mingyu asks. He makes no effort to pull away, so Soonyoung can still feel the slight vibration of his lips.

“Just because,” Soonyoung replies.

“You’re acting like me now,” Mingyu says, holding back both a laugh and a grin as he distantly remembers the times where he would kiss Soonyoung for no reason. They feel closer to the present than they should be, as if his mind tried to forget the weeks he spent not kissing him.

“Maybe you’re acting like me.” The older boy says it playfully, but he can’t ignore the grain of truth in his own words and the way it stings him. He just hopes it doesn’t do the same to Mingyu, whose laugh puts him a little more at ease.

“If I’m like you, will that make you love me?” Soonyoung doesn’t know whether to say nothing or everything; the entire story almost falls out of his mouth in one run-on sentence that would have probably sounded like a sigh. He actually sighs, resting his head on the stack of boxes and watching Mingyu from a slightly sideways angle. He wonders if this is what he looks like to Mingyu, slightly different, slightly… crooked. In an endearing way, of course.

“I already love you,” Soonyoung says, and for once, he’s not telling Mingyu a lie. He tries to let him know that by showing some amount of sincerity in his eyes, but in the ever-dimming light of the apartment, and the fact that Mingyu can’t look at Soonyoung for more than a few seconds before he glances at the carpet, it’s hard. It’s hard for him to keep standing up straight. He can feel his grip on the boxes start to go a bit slack. He wants to force out another sentence, but his body won’t let him, his body wants to end this entire situation on the best note it can. Soonyoung leans forward and kisses the top of Mingyu’s head, so lightly the younger boy probably wouldn’t have even felt it if Soonyoung didn’t bump him with his chin.

Without another word, and without another anything on Mingyu’s part, Soonyoung rushes out the door. He haphazardly tosses the boxes into the trunk, not forgetting that they’re full of china, but disregarding it, and jumps into the drivers’ seat. He pulls his keys out of the pocket with his own phone in it, and as soon as they’re in, as soon as he can feel everything click into place around him, he guns it out of the parking lot, the heavy gusts of wind coming in through the windows feeling like new energy coming into his body. And leaving Mingyu’s.

//

When Joshua enters his new apartment the next morning, it feels particularly cold. Not in the kind of way where the heating’s off, because it’s on, actually, it’s cold in the kind of way where it’s cold and stale, and he feels like there should be spiders coming out of the walls, but there’s only the rattly breath of the vents. The person on the floor in the living room isn’t breathing. He’s the kind of cold and stale that means he hasn’t been breathing for a while.

//

“He was everything to me, and I did my best to be the same for him. He deserved no less.” Soonyoung bows his head, and it's hard to not let the tears start to slip when it feels like nobody can see him. They can all see him, at least, they can see the boy with the broken heart, the boy who will have an empty bedroom in his house and an empty space in his life that will never be filled because it’s just too perfectly shaped for Mingyu. They see him as naive, as someone having to take the reins in his life for the first time; they don’t see the real first time, the rush of deja vu, the car crash, Soonyoung running out of his apartment, his hair disheveled and his lips bloody from chewing them too much. They see him perfectly composed, and for once, he feels obligated to not be. He stumbles a little as he goes to sit in his seat again, and once he does, he loosens his tie around his neck. He feels like he can’t breathe. He wonders how Mingyu feels.

As everyone starts to file out, Soonyoung tries not to linger in any certain spot for too long, but he finds himself waiting by the door for Wonwoo, who's more than willing to hang around with the others and rub their backs and offer them pity- he's gotten far too much of it for himself today. Someone who's not Wonwoo gently touches Soonyoung’s shoulder- it's Jeonghan. His face is bright, even in the dim church, but it feels forced, like he's determined to be one of the few people that doesn't cry. It's hard for him, judging by the way he chews on his bottom lip for a while before he starts his sentence, and Soonyoung knows he's not stalling to look for the right words.

“Soonyoung, you were Mingyu’s everything.” He closes his eyes, and there's a hint of a tear at the end of his eyelashes. “I know it.” He looks at Soonyoung again, and repeats himself now that they're looking at each other- “I know it.” Soonyoung nods, and apparently that's good enough for Jeonghan, because he practically tears his hand off of Soonyoung’s shoulder. As he does so, a cream colored feather falls out of his sleeve and sticks to Soonyoung’s. He wouldn't have noticed if not for the slight color contrast, it's interesting, the way it catches the light- or rather, the lack thereof- entirely differently than the white feathers Soonyoung is used to.

Wonwoo spots Soonyoung alone by the door, and starts making his way over, brushing off the guests that speak to him rather than furthering their conversation. Soonyoung’s quick to toss the feather aside in favor of everything he's used to, everything he knows. Wonwoo takes him out the side door and into their car, to head home and make lunch themselves, like Mingyu would have wanted, like he would have begged them to do if they were in this situation another time. Just as he’s about to turn the key in the ignition, he reaches over and brushes a white feather from Soonyoung’s shoulder; it flutters out the window and joins another feather outside.

//

It’s harder for Wonwoo after Mingyu dies; Soonyoung thinks it’s the shock factor. He’s always pale, always looking like a deer in headlights, so much so that when he wakes up genuinely sick one day, Soonyoung doesn’t even notice until he hears him coughing in the kitchen while trying to make himself some soup. Soonyoung doesn’t offer his cooking skills, since they’re no good, just offers him a kiss on the cheek and his company as he climbs up onto the counter, not speaking just in case Wonwoo has a headache.

“Soonyoung, did I bother you?” he asks, stifling another cough.

“No, you just worried me.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, not meeting Soonyoung’s eyes as he turns to get a bowl from the cabinet for his soup. Soonyoung absentmindedly stirs the pot on the stove, until he hears Wonwoo’s breath hitch, and when he turns back, he’s pulling his fingers out of his sweater and away from his shoulder blade. There’s a streak of blood on one of them.

Soonyoung hops down from the counter, and when his socked feet hit the linoleum and the dull sound rings out, that’s when Wonwoo hisses, “Damn Minnie,” referring to the cat they had recently adopted. From her spot on the dining room chair at the head of the table, she stretches her paw out and exposes her claws, looking at Soonyoung with her glowing blue eyes as if to make a point that Soonyoung doesn’t quite catch. Wonwoo still sits down at the table, lulling her back to sleep with a few scratches behind the ears. When she’s out, he motions for Soonyoung

They sit next to each other, a wall of vases separating them from the empty side of the table. Each one is packed full of flowers, most of them lilies, because everyone uses lilies for funerals. Wonwoo rips a petal off of one of them, hoping it’ll die soon; he hates lilies. There’s a bouquet of orchids at the right end of the table; Seungkwan sent those. There’s a bouquet of red roses at the left end; Jihoon sent those, remembering Mingyu had always loved red. And roses. He had cried when Wonwoo brought some home from his newfound job as a florist, even though they were nothing special, crudely bundled in paper towels and already half-wilted, about to be thrown away, Mingyu had insisted they keep them in the center of their table until they were such an eyesore Wonwoo threw them away while Mingyu was asleep.

“Wonwoo, can I see the roses?” Soonyoung asks. Wonwoo pushes the vase towards him, not caring about it scratching their table, and Soonyoung moves it into the center of the table, pushing all the other vases of lilies away from it.

“Soonyoung, we need to focus,” Wonwoo says, his voice soft. He places a hand on Soonyoung’s arm, and he can barely feel it through the fabric of his sweatshirt. He leans into his touch, and mumbles something that sounds enough like a yes to prompt Wonwoo to continue.

“Soonyoung,” he starts again; he has a habit of starting every sentence with someone’s name when he’s nervous, as if he’s going to forget what’s going on. “They want us to tell them how we want him buried.” Soonyoung sighs, leans so far over his head falls onto Wonwoo’s shoulder, and he can feel the younger boy run his fingers through his hair ever so gently. Soonyoung’s sweater starts to slip down his arm; he makes no effort to pull it back up.

“Wonwoo.” Soonyoung shrugs, his sweater slipping further down. “I think I want Mingyu to be buried with feathers.”

Wonwoo nods, pulling his sweater further up. “I think that’d be nice.”


	2. epilogue

Soonyoung starts to catch Wonwoo off guard, just like he used to catch Mingyu, and Wonwoo always seems to back away, just like Mingyu. The only difference is the look in his eyes, a minuscule glimmer that doesn't just ask for Soonyoung, it begs for him. Mingyu never truly acknowledged Soonyoung, let alone want him; Mingyu saw Soonyoung as an inconvenient necessity, like taking pills in the morning.

Another inconvenient necessity is the way Soonyoung perpetually questions Wonwoo, when they're both laying in bed, either watching the ceiling fan above them, or the city outside, or staring at the calendar that still hasn't been changed to the right date. Every time Soonyoung asks a question, he feels Wonwoo toss and turn beside him.

“Do you ever… see Mingyu? Feel him, even?” Wonwoo turns over, staring into the pitch-black bathroom as if he's checking for Mingyu, making sure he's really dead. He is, of course, they both know it, although sometimes they both feel that Soonyoung knows the story better. Wonwoo’s finally resigned to not knowing, just blindly trusting Soonyoung, and the people who put Mingyu’s casket in the ground, and whoever was holding his other hand at the burial, rubbing small circles onto his knuckles.

Wonwoo shakes his head, and somehow, Soonyoung can tell that his answer is negative; he sighs. “Okay.”

“Do you ever see him?” Wonwoo asks. “Feel him?”

“Of course not.”

“Okay.” He’s reassured by the fact he's just like Soonyoung in at least one respect.

The younger boy falls asleep soon after that, so Soonyoung asks questions to himself as he traces patterns on Wonwoo’s arms and back, wrinkling the fabric of his shirt and smoothing it flat again. He doesn’t get it quite flat over his right shoulder blade, but Wonwoo rolls onto his back, and Soonyoung lays his head on his chest, forgetting about how disheveled he looks as his overwhelming warmth makes Soonyoung squeeze his eyes shut and curl tighter into him.

The curtains had been left open, and the light streaming into their bedroom is surprisingly pleasant. A few stray feathers on the bedspread reflect it, and Soonyoung flicks them into the air. Wonwoo grabs at one of them lazily, and Soonyoung giggles, his breath blowing away one that had been stuck to the collar of Wonwoo’s shirt.

The older boy brushes his hand through the air as he gets up, as if it does anything. Wonwoo lays still for a few moments, a contemplative look on his face before he finally drags himself out of bed, following Soonyoung to the table. He’s started to let Soonyoung make them both coffee in the morning, even though Wonwoo truthfully likes tea better, and he never finishes more than half of whatever the hell it is that Soonyoung makes. It's some kind of compromise, although neither of them recognize it as one anymore.

“Wonwoo, what's wrong?” Soonyoung asks, standing behind the younger boy’s chair and rubbing his shoulders. He leans into it, and Wonwoo leans back, tilting his head back and letting his bangs fall out of the way to get a better look at Soonyoung’s face. Wonwoo’s about to give his typical, passive answer of “Oh, nothing,” and let Soonyoung dote on him for a little while longer before he lets the matter go. That is, until Soonyoung drops his hands further down Wonwoo’s back and pushes them up, kneading the fabric of his sweater and the flesh under it.

The pressure on his shoulder blades makes him jump, and he takes the opportunity to stand up out of his chair, re-adjusting his sweater and making eye contact with Soonyoung just long enough to say, “I- I think I have the flu, let me get some medicine.”

Soonyoung hears the bathroom door slam, and he hears Minnie start to scratch at it, meowing pitifully- he’ll let her in. He doesn't stop to listen to Wonwoo inside the bathroom, but even if he did, he wouldn't hear anything but the dull scratching of Wonwoo’s sweater against his skin, and breaths that comes out sounding more like disappointed sighs. There's no sound of the cabinets opening, or bottles of medicine being uncapped.

The door isn't locked- Wonwoo’s never like that, even when he doesn't wholeheartedly trust Soonyoung, he would never shut him out like that. Secretly, he's almost always wishing for Soonyoung to come to him. He does, of course- and Wonwoo isn’t upset, he just wishes the older boy didn't have to see him like this.

He’s somewhat perched on the bathroom counter, his sweater discarded on the lip of the bathtub- Minnie runs to sit on it- and his bare back reflected in the mirror, which he stares into intently. For once, he's not mentally connecting his freckles. It's already been done for him, with two lines that look like healing scars, one on either side of his back. The one on the left is short, starting high up on his shoulder and ending well above his waist. The one on the right, even Soonyoung is shocked by. It runs all the way down his back, almost touching the waistband of his sweats, and curls, so it seems to stop on his hip rather than his back. His palm covers the bottom few inches of it, although he's not touching it, just holding his hand over it to shield it from view.

“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung whispers, the rest of his words failing him.

“Soonyoung,” the younger boy responds, not looking directly at him, but catching the eyes of his reflection in the mirror.

Soonyoung steps forward and brushed Wonwoo’s hand aside, laying his own over the scar. Wonwoo breathes in sharply, cringing, and that prompts Soonyoung to ask, “How long have they been there?”

“Since after the accident.” He pauses, rubbing his left shoulder, careful not to touch the scar. “It just… got so out of control after Gyu died.” His breath is shaky, and when he turns around to look past Soonyoung, out into the living room where, somewhere on the mantel, there's a framed picture of the black-haired boy he used to be able to call his boyfriend, his eyes are wet.

Soonyoung’s mind reverts to another picture: the sight of Mingyu’s bare back as he steps out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, the slightest of blemishes forming on his shoulder blades, almost looking like fingerprints. Mingyu never noticed. Soonyoung never brought it to his attention. He didn't need to, after all. But Wonwoo? Wonwoo needs guidance, needs help, needs competence, and all Soonyoung can do is peer into the cabinets, looking for some bandages.

“Of course it did,” Soonyoung mumbles. “Sometimes you just can't stop something, can you?”

“Soonyoung, I just had no idea you could-”

“I didn't either!” He slams the cabinet, the sound of it making Wonwoo jump just enough to make a tear slip out of his eye. There's a long pause, between Wonwoo wiping his eye very, very slowly, and Soonyoung trying to even out his breathing. He hunches over the counter, staring into the sink, and he feels that the stress on his shoulder blades might make them split. Then he’ll have two messes to clean up- and no bandages.

“What are we supposed to do? What did your mom do when it happened to you?”

“Covered my back in bandages and tried to keep it a secret.” He reaches down the back of his shirt and pulls out a few crumpled feathers, tossing them onto the counter. “Because that was a great idea.”

Wonwoo frowns as Soonyoung picks apart the feathers like he's unraveling a sweater. “But what happens if you just… let it be?”

“For you? I don't know; everyone goes through it differently, and obviously your case isn't exactly… normal…” He leans further over the sink, watching the stray pieces of fluff he shreds the feathers into collect around the drain. He picks up another one, the longest one there, and smooths it out, sheer white strings breaking off of it as he does so, even though his touch is gentle. “God, Wonwoo…” he trails off, choosing his next words carefully. He doesn't want to be a liar, especially when Wonwoo is going to find out the truth anyway. “You would be so beautiful.”

Wonwoo nods, a wondering look on his face, as if he doesn't know what being beautiful feels like. Soonyoung looks up at him and smiles softly, already thinking about what he would look like with full wings.

“So we’re gonna leave them alone?” Wonwoo asks.

“We’re gonna leave them alone.” Soonyoung stands back up, dropping the rest of his feather into the sink, and feeling like he's had a revelation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhh this took like two months to come out instead of two weeks... sorry about that. at least i can finally say this fic is over with (unless i decide to pull a prequel or spinoff out of my ass, which i probably will, because i'm so stupidly devoted to this au)
> 
> if you read the first part of the fic and have been waiting for this, for whatever reason, thanks. if you just found this fic and read it, for whatever reason, thanks. if you skipped over the entire actual fic and are just reading my notes, for whatever reason, thanks. per usual, feel free to drop a comment/some kudos and hit me up on twitter (@hltsongs) or instagram (@junhaosol/@exordiia) !!
> 
> xoxo, dana

**Author's Note:**

> sooooooo guess who's back? me! guess who should have been back months ago? me! guess who thought this fic would be less than 10000 words? me! i'm actually super proud this is my longest fic ever oooooo!! i started it in august and have been sooooo hype to get it out since i started it bc i just love it so much angel aus are my favorite things Ever. the first real story i tried to write was actually an angel au w ocs rip bethany and jasper i will always love u (especially u jasper bc u live on as my only art oc i appreciate)
> 
> anyways!! if you liked this guess what? an epilogue should be coming in about a week or so ;)
> 
> and guess what? i only half-intentionally created the perfect opportunity to make a spin-off about jeonghan bc uhhhhh i love him
> 
> and guess what? you should leave a kudos if you want or a comment if you have anything to say bc i love love love hearing from you guys!!!! you can also hit me up on twitter @hltsongs and on instagram @junhaosol (and @exordiia for all my shitty fanart)!!!
> 
> xoxo, dana


End file.
